


Ways to a heart

by valkyrjorna (Oscorpse)



Series: The Tales of the (OT)Three [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Beginnings, F/M, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Multi, OT3, Other, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-22 19:39:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15589257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oscorpse/pseuds/valkyrjorna
Summary: Torstein can't sleep because his mind keeps drifting towards that one particular night - and he turns out to not be the only one experiencing a sleepless night. But how do you turn a thought, an idea, into something set in stone?





	1. 001. Interest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theboatbuilderswife](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=theboatbuilderswife).



Torstein tossed and turned.

Again and again, the blankets seemed either too hot or too cold, the bed too full and too empty. His skin was burning like he had a fever but when he laid his own hand to his forehead, he felt nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing more than his slightly clammy skin, cool to the touch thanks to the slightly chilly September air outside.

The weather was not the reason for his discomfort. If he had been less of a man, he might have claimed that his unease came from his worry for Ragnar, or his doubts about his choice to challenge the earl. However, what was on Torstein's mind was nothing so political or selfless. No, the reason Torstein laid tossing was a woman.

Now there had been women before, he wouldn't deny that much. After all, he was hardly a saint and, on top of that, a man, and everything that came with it. But never before had the face of a woman remained behind like a ghost whenever he closed his eyes. Never before had he turned around in his otherwise empty bed and expected to feel her soft shape under the fur.

Helga.

He had no right to feel this. None at all. She was not his woman and despite their mutual attraction - and the night that followed - she was…

He stopped himself right there. Had it been any other woman, the sentence would be clear. She was Floki's. But was she? Was Helga truly Floki's? He had seen her eyes light up when he stammered his hello. And her response had been sugar sweet and filled with…

Yes. Filled with what?

At first, he had thought it was politeness. The way her voice lilted as she greeted him. Then, in a giddy moment of boyish enthusiasm and hope, he had thought it was interest, maybe. And after all, it had been. Interest. He had seen it again when Floki tapped his shoulder and told him to come. Over the shoulder of his old friends he had caught her eyes, glimmering in the last light of the fire, almost singsong calling for him to come closer, to love her. At least for that night.  
That night.

  
He groaned, pushing up. Even his linen tunic seemed to smell like her. Like them? That was a thought he hardly dared to entertain - them. Them. What had this been? Had he laid with Floki’s partner, or had he laid with her and Floki? Had he been an addition, a game, a welcome distraction in their sexlife, or did it mean something, could it mean something? He had known Floki from the day he turned five. Never before had he looked and the man and thought about…

  
...yes, what?

  
Kissing, perhaps. He told himself that never before, he had looked at Floki and thought about kissing him. He tried to push away the part of him that whispered it was a lie, and projected images of a late night near the campfire on the otherwise blank canvas of his mind. It’d been the mead, then. Had there been mead, yesterday?

  
Perhaps.

  
Perhaps not.

  
He slid into his simple pants, dragging the fur he used to keep warm around his shoulders, ready to force himself to inhale a little of the late night air. That would surely clear his head. He pushed open the door of his somewhat secluded hut, the same hut that had once belonged to his parents, and he was hit in the face by the sharp cold. It felt lovely, and it brought a smile to his lips that was equally content and pleased.

He stepped out.

  
For a long time, there was just him. His feet crunched on the old, paper leaves that formed a carpet on the forest soil. He could hear the wind rustle through the branches, smell the freshness of the pines. Once more he realized how much he loved nature and he felt blessed for how much his mother had taught him about it. She had been a huntress, Astrid. And she had fallen in love with a smith. But no matter how badly the smith had wanted to take her into Kattegat, he had never been able to persuade the huntress to come and live inside the village walls.  
And as a true lover, he had not forced her to.

  
Torstein always saw the love of his parents as an example that he loved to follow. They had been hard working and respectable people. They had been proud of him, too. Torstein had never shown any smithing skills, but his father hadn’t mind. He had known the bow and arrow were near Torstein’s heart, so rather than forcing him to learn how to work with steal, Steinar had taught himself how to work with wood, producing Torstein’s first bow, and the second, and the third, until he could do it himself.

  
In his pondering, he had missed the sound that accompanied the rustling of the leaves and, if he hadn’t stopped walking in order to study a mushroom on the bark of an old oak, he might have missed it entirely. A small crunch. Bare feet on leaves. Like the echoes of his own steps that lasted just a second too long. It made him look over his shoulder, and for a moment he considered that perhaps he had fallen asleep after all.

  
That perhaps this was the dream.

  
Because there she stood. Her blonde hair had caught a few stray leaves, her hands fiddling with a loose thread on her sleeve. It struck him - again - how small she was. Like a girl, still, but her forms betrayed that she no longer was. Oh, yes, she was younger. Younger than him, and younger than Floki, surely. But she wasn’t a girl, nothing silly or naive. Innocent? Perhaps, but at that moment, as he saw her, only half hidden between the trees, he studied the small smile around her lips and he realized that her being here, right now, right there, had been entirely on purpose.

  
“Helga.”

  
She giggled, and the first thing he wanted to do was roll his eyes and tell her she let Floki influence her laugh too much. She was dressed in nothing more than the thin underdress he had seen her in before and it made her look vunerable and strong at the same time.

  
Oh, how interested he was.

  
“Torstein,” she made a small, almost mocking bow, sliding out from between the trees like she was part of the forest, like she always had been there. “I already wondered if I would find you roaming. I saw you in the village today. Restless.”

  
“I didn’t know you were here.”

  
“Floki has come with Ragnar,” she said, “and I thought it would be a shame if I missed out on the opportunity to see you again.”

  
And oh, how interested she seemed.

  
It made him fluster. Him. Of all people. She could have said I want you and it wouldn’t have been clearer because this - this was a dare. An open invitation.

  
“Does Floki know you are here?”

  
“Yes.”

  
He didn’t know why he had thought anything else.

  
“What does he think about that?”

  
“That you would sleep better in the bed we have made for ourselves in the townhouse,” she chirped softly. Her voice sounded a little bit like rustling leaves, too, as she came closer, almost without a sound. “So he told me I could go and see if you were home - but right at that moment I saw you slip into the forest.”

  
“I.. had to think.”

  
“About what?”

  
About you, he wanted to say. About you and Floki and the way you held out your hand for me. The way your body felt hot and warm against mine when you laid between us. About Floki’s fingers in his hair.

  
“No answer to that, huh?”

  
He had been silent for too long, she was grinning. She still stood a few steps away. Just too far away to touch, and in her eyes she had the look of a curious child as she swayed back and forth.

  
“Why do you want to know?” Torstein asked, although he knew the answer. And he wasn’t surprised when she raised her hand like a fairytale creature, holding it out for him to take. And him alone.

  
“Oh,” the wind took her whisper and brought it to Torstein’s lips. “Interest.”


	2. 002. Rain

It was easy enough to follow her back to the town. She held his hand and she guided him through the densely packed forest. His own feet made far more noise than hers and he found that fitting. Her nimble fingers squeezed his softly, as if in reassurance, and Torstein couldn’t do anything than smile about it.

He had never been a man that needed confirmation. He had never truly minded what others thought. So the fact that one slight squeeze of her hand eased most of his worries was, in a way, unsettling and calming at the same time.

He was lost in thought. So lost in thought he missed the branch that she could walk under without bowing her head. It hit him right in the nose.

And the first thing she did was laugh.

The first thing he did was groan, his hand falling from hers as he brought it up to his face, fingers gently touching the raw patch of skin where the branch had struck him. Helga’s giggle faltered as she raised herself up, standing on her tiptoes to study whether the branch had done him any harm.

“Oaf,” she said, with affection.

“I was distracted,” he muttered, trying to excuse himself. He had half a mind of batting her hands away. He had fought many battles, a branch to the nose was hardly something he needed pampering over. And yet, he did not - because the pampering was worth it if he thought about her sweet hands stroking his cheeks.

“I’ll give a kiss on it, but it’ll get blue for a bit.”

“I think that’s a reasonable compromise.”

She slid one hand up into his hair so she could tug him down, the other arm hooking around his shoulders as her soft lips found the bridge of his nose and pressed against it, softly, more like a flutter than an actual kiss. They remained there, for a moment, her soft breath warming the skin. Then, without him noticing, his arm had already slid around her waist, keeping her there.

“Well, Steinarsson,” her voice was soft, but he could hear it lilt into a teasing tone. “What a position to be found in. I can only imagine the ruckus it will cause when we have a run in with someone right now.”

Frankly, he didn’t give a damn. He was fine standing here like this, with the soft swell of her body pressed against him, and her lips to his nose, the pain of the branch long forgotten because who could remember pain when there was so much of something else coursing through one’s body? And he would have been content remaining there like this, if not for Helga, who seemed to have other plans.

With her first shift, he thought she meant to escape his hold, so he loosened his grip around her waist, but one of her hands caught his arm and kept it there, squeezing.

“Don’t you dare let me go now,” she said, and he complied.

She moved her other hand, too, lowering herself only slightly, changing their position, and then her lips were no longer pressed to the bridge of his nose, no, then her lips were pressed against his in a kiss, a kiss that was better than the memory of a kiss given during sex, because during sex those things just happened and here, now, there was no doubt about the intent of it, that closed mouthed kiss they were sharing.

And yet he wondered what Floki thought.

Like she could read his mind, both of her hands slid up, fingers running over his jaw, pulling at the slight curls of his beard. Reassurance. Again.

When the kiss broke, her giggle was back.

“Who would have thought,” she said, “so many women brag about having been your conquest and when I kiss you, you don’t move a muscle. What is it, archer? Am I making you uncomfortable.”

“Uh,” he said, eloquently as ever. It made her smile even wider. She had only moved a few inches, her hands still up there, capturing him in their nimble grip. “This is different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes it is.”

It was different. On so many points. She wasn’t a conquest to begin with. She was a gift from the Gods. And she wasn’t someone he could brag about, not with Floki being there, Floki, who had invited Torstein with him, to share… share her? Maybe. When he thought about it, perhaps it had not been about sharing Helga. Perhaps it had been about sharing the night.

“Why?”

“Because of Floki,” his answer was honest because that was all he aspired to be. “Kissing a woman on her own is nothing like kissing a woman who has a man waiting for her. Yes, he knows you are here, but.. does he know we are kissing in the forest. Just the two of us?”

She seemed to ponder.

“Well, sometimes he appears to have a way of knowing those things,” she shrugged, like it was common day conversation. “And even if he didn’t, he knows me, better than anyone, and he knows I can’t resist moonlit kisses, even less so when they involve the man I like. But if you’re worried, we can ask for his permission before we continue.”

It was clear she thought permission was not something she needed.

“Sharing a bed once is something else than this,” Torstein said, “even sharing a bed twice is not as intimate as this.”

“Then perhaps you have to share our bed more than twice,” came her simple answer. She lowered herself flat on her feet again, her fingers once again finding his hand, tugging, “but come on, the night is not getting warmer, and Floki can only keep the bed hot for us for so long. We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

He didn’t have a reason to object.

The sound of their feet was joined by the sound of rain splattering onto the trees and forest soil. Thick droplets found their way through the branches to wet Torstein’s and Helga’s hair, but she didn’t seem to care. Instead, she let out an elated giggle, speeding up her pace and pulling him along with a little more insistence.

“Come.”

Her voice was enchanting and it echoed through his mind. Come, come, come. The rain cooled down his heated skin but did nothing for the fire in his chest and stomach. It seemed like his heart beat quicker with every step closer to the village and when they stood in front of the door of Helga’s temporary sleeping chambers, it was more of a pounding rhythm than anything else.

“Nervous, archer?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

She said it with affection, bringing his hand to her lips. Then, she slid it down. To her throat, to her chest, pressing it to one of her breasts with affection. She kept it there while her other hand unlocked the door and she stepped into the room, backwards. For a moment, Torstein had to let his eyes get used to the darkness, the room only lit by flickering fire.

“Mhh,” Floki’s eyes were nothing more but a shimmer in the blackness. “I already wondered if she had failed to convince you.”


	3. 003. SKIN

Floki was different now than he used to be, and Torstein wondered if it was the man who had changed, or if it was just because the dim light in combination with the promise of sex. If maybe, just maybe, Helga’s hand around his own showed him Floki a little bit like she saw him. As a possible lover, something else than a friend. Something more than a friend - maybe even something more than a human.

His grin was otherworldly, that much was for sure.

“It seemed to be bordering on that for a while,” Helga said, then, a cheeky smile curling up her lips as she all but pressed herself against Torstein’s side. He could feel the swell of her breasts, some stray hairs from her head tickling the bare skin of his arm, “it took me long enough to convince him that I wasn’t just tricking him.”

“Tricking is my specialty, not hers,” Floki mused, now directly addressing Torstein. “You should know that, more so than anyone else.”

It was true, Torstein supposed. For all these years he had known Floki, both in jest and in battle, and it was true that the name of trickster fit him well. On the battlefield, he outsmarted his foe and when drinking, he outsmarted his friends. He could safely say that Floki had been responsible for both some of the best and some of the worst nights of his life.

“I do, which was why it surprised me that you would want me here again. You’re a trickster, you’re also easily jealous,” Torstein had, without noticing himself, pressed his hand to the back of Helga’s neck. “One night of fun is all good and well, but you know as well as I know that a second night is never accidental.”

“Who said the first night was?”

“Okay, accidental is not the right word. Circumstantial, perhaps, and this -”

“Stop using difficult words, they don’t befit that mouth of yours,” Floki hummed, sliding down from the bed so he was standing on the floor, “they don’t befit you. And they don’t befit us. I think the invitation was clear.”

He gestured at the bed with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Before he could pretend to overthink it, he could feel Helga’s small hands against his back, giving him a gentle push. Floki was already shrugging out of his shirt before climbing onto the bed, his lanky frame for once as inviting to Torstein as the promise of Helga’s soft curves. With a soft grumble he allowed her to manhandle him towards the soft furs, where he hardly had the time to sit down before she clambered into his lap like some creature from the forest, her nimble fingers toying with the laces of his tunic.

“You’re wearing too much.”  
It made him chuckle, partly because he had expected her to say it and partly because he hadn’t. Floki sat on his knees to pluck at the side of Helga’s dress, undoing the string that held it tight against her frame. In the darkness of the hut, it became hard to focus on which hands belonged to whom - which sighs came from whose mouth, and when they were naked, to Torstein it felt like they had blended into a heap of limbs and skin and soft whispers that he could only half understand.

A strange thought occurred to him.

It was like the Gods were watching.

That strange thought only distracted him for a moment, however, and then he forgot it because Helga’s lips pressed against his and she was so sweet and then something else happened, something he hadn’t quite expected while, at the same moment, he knew he should have, because her lips were replaced by his.

It made him overthink this.

Did he want her? Did he just want her and did he take Floki for granted? Did he accept Floki because of his own selfish desire to have her? He had always thought that, were he to end up between two others, that would be the reason. Sick lust for someone else’s lover. But it didn’t feel like that, now, because he was kissing Floki, with the taste of Helga lingering on his lips, and not once he thought he shouldn’t be liking this.

Helga giggled.

“By all means, continue,” she hummed, as she let herself slide down over both their bodies. He could feel goosebumps rise where her skin touched hers, and then suddenly, he felt her hot mouth between his legs. For a moment, it was like everything went dark, seeing stars, and he wondered how, on earth, in his 30 years of life, he had laid with women many times and never had his body reacted like it did, now.

It was Floki’s turn to giggle.

The hotness disappeared as he tugged her up, making her straddle Torstein, sinking down upon him. He could feel the wetness that he had done nothing for and he wondered how long she had been aroused already. Was it since they had come in? Had she already been wet when she met him in the forest.

He didn’t voice these thoughts - everything that spilled from his lips was a soft groan, followed by a gentle sigh. He lost sight of Floki when she started riding him, her hair forming a curtain around both their faces, trapping them in a solemn world of flaxen locks and soft panting.

“Bet you didn’t expect your night to end like this, archer.”

He could tell from her face that Floki was not sitting still, her lips sometimes parting just to close again, and once a small flinch. Then, he felt the bed dip near his hips and Floki’s hand slid around her, wedging itself between Helga’s and Torstein’s stomach. The rhythm changed, but he thought it was for the better. 

For the first time, he chuckled.

Afterwards, when their bodies had been sated, their sweat mingling on their bodies, he and Floki laid side by side, Floki’s arm under Torstein’s neck, and Helga had curled up over them like a cat, her lips pressed just under Tor’s collarbone, her leg curled around Floki’s calve. Again, Torstein asked himself if it was her, if he had fallen for a woman who belonged to someone else. But he realized that no, that wasn’t the case.

She didn’t belong to anyone.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my favourite OT3 but I literally wouldn't be able to write this without my set RP partner. This one is for Helgs.


End file.
